


Late Night Book Club

by timeladyofletters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy, Gen, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeladyofletters/pseuds/timeladyofletters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Imagine recommending your favorite book to Sam and then getting a call from him at 1 a.m. because of the plot twist "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Book Club

Going to bed before 10 p.m. and sleeping for a full 8 hours per night was a nearly impossible feat for a hunter. So, when you found yourself with some spare time on your hands, you always made sure to spend as much of it as possible in your bed.

You were sound asleep in your room when the shrill ringing of your cellphone sounded in your ear. With a groan, you pried your eyes open and took a few seconds to let your blurry vision clear. You glanced at the clock beside your bed and grew murderous; someone was calling you at the unholy hour of 1:47 a.m. Whoever was on the other end of that call was about to get a verbal smack-down from you.

In your moment of fury, you didn’t even bother to look at the caller I.D. when you touched the answer icon on the screen.

“Its almost 2 a.m., so this had better be an emergency,” you grumbled as a greeting. This was no time for the traditional “hello”.

Almost immediately, a familiar voice blared through the speaker and said, “I can’t believe you made me read this book without bothering to warn me about the end!”

Confused, you jerked your head away from the phone to take a look at the screen. Yep, that was his name flashing there.

“Sam,” you began, reeling in your anger so as not to wake up the third and grumpiest resident of the Men of Letters bunker.

“Yeah?” he responded tentatively.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in my room.”

You were still taking it all in. “Are you…are you really calling me on the phone, from your room, fifteen steps down the hall, at almost 2 in the morning?!”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ll just talk to you later,” Sam said in a rush, apology and embarrassment both coloring his voice.

Without even seeing him, you knew he had on those puppy-dog eyes. There was no way you could be mad at him, especially when he was so consumed by your favorite book. You were flattered by the fact that you were the person he called so early in the morning. Tired or not, the sound of his voice, no matter the situation, always made those damn metaphorical butterflies in your stomach flutter wildly. With a sigh, you stopped him before he could end the call.

“No, its okay,” you said, clearing the hoarse sleepiness from your throat. “I’m awake now. Just come over to my room. And bring coffee.”

Then you hung up before he could object.

In a flurry, you leaped from your bed, switched on the lights, and tidied your room; throwing loose articles of clothing into the closet and putting the trash where it really belonged. Then you swapped your tiny shorts for sweat pants and loosened your hair from it’s messy bun. Of course, Sam had seen you in every state possible, but you couldn’t help but want to look a little more presentable.

By the time you had settled back on the bed, Sam was knocking at your door.

*******************************************************************

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Sam repeated for the third time as he handed you your coffee, made just the way you liked it.

As you took a sip, you sneaked a peek at Sam, who was making himself at home and taking a seat next to you. His look didn’t reflect the early hour. If anything, he looked even more refreshed than he did during day. His eyes weren’t red and puffy, his clothes weren’t wrinkled and his voice wasn’t scratchy. Not to mention the fact that his hair looked better taken care of than yours ever did.  _I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks,_ you thought to yourself.

“…I mean, that twist was even more unexpected than the whole ‘Harry being a Horcrux’ thing!” Sam gushed, as you focused back on what he was saying. You and him both hadn’t even realized that you zoned out for a few seconds.

“See what I meant when I said you absolutely had to read it?” you asked him, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“Yeah, I get it now,” he chuckled softly as he fidgeted on the bed and fluffed up the pillows, trying to get comfy. “I’m still on the fence about whether or not I actually liked it, because that ending really threw me for a loop, but it really was an amazing book. And what is with these pillows? They’re like marshmallows!”

You laughed at him, knowing exactly what he meant but choosing not to comment. You loved your overly soft and squishy pillows.

Sam looked around, first at you, then at the bed, and seemed to have a light bulb moment. Then without even a second thought, he scooted his body down the mattress, turned a little, and rested his head in your lap.

Now that threw  _you_  for a loop. Sam, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice that what he did was completely out of the ordinary for the two of you.

“Do you think there’s going to be a sequel?” he continued to say about the book. “I mean, there doesn’t have to be, with an ending like that, but…Y/N, are you okay? You’re barely moving.”

He looked up at you, concerned. It was then that you realized that he was right; you were sitting up stiffly, frozen like a statue, and unintentionally holding your breath. 

“I’m fine,” you squeaked. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat and tried again, at a Cas-like decibel. “I’m fine.”

Sam cursed under his breath, and sat back up to face you. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have invaded your space like that.”

“No it’s alright, Sam,” you insisted, not wanting him to think he ruined the moment when in fact he made it better. “You were finally comfortable and I was finally warm; so, win-win.”

He stared intensely at you, trying to tell by your movements if you meant what you were saying. “You’re sure?”

“Yes! Now come on, tell me more about how eternally grateful you are to me for making you read that damn book.”

Sam smiled broadly at you, hazel eyes sparking. Then he flipped over to his back and settled his head on your thighs again. In an instant, we was back to ranting about the novel.

You admired how animated he was when he spoke of things he was passionate about. He used his hands and eyes to convey what he was saying, and whenever he wanted you to chime in with your opinions, he looked up at you with those striking eyes. 

When you began to contribute to the conversation, you realized that you were stroking his hair. You had no idea how long that had been going on, but you reveled in the feel of his soft strands between your fingertips. You also noticed that whenever your hand moved along his hair, Sam closed his eyes briefly and let out a small sigh. 

Sam continued to talk well into the morning hours while you continued to listen and play with his hair. And when his words turned to heavy breaths, and his heavy breaths turned to soft snores, you decided there and then that you had to find a new book for him to wake you up for, ASAP.


End file.
